Expectations
by tashamiller2k
Summary: Ginny hates expectations. Warning - FF themes avoid if offended. Also some reference to drug and alcohol abuse.


Title: Expectations

Author: Tasha Miller – 

Disclaimer: JK Rowling is rich, I'm not. Who do you think owns the characters?

Summery: Ginny hates expectations.

If you're a Hermione/Ginny Fan I suggest you go join the yahoo! Group -

Did Harry expect me to be ecstatic when he started to notice me? Did he expect me to jump into his arms like some forlorn heroine whose prince had finally come? He can be such an arrogant asshole sometimes. I grew up a lot, I'm sure that's part of the reason he asked me out, Ron's little sister finally has breasts. I ball my hands up into fists but don't hit anything; the bruises are still fresh from last time I was pissed off. I settle for a growl of frustration as I pace around the dorm room. I finally just flop down on my bed. It's stupid that I'm so angry at him; I'm just so sick of these expectations people have of me. I hate that Harry just expected me to say 'yes'. I hate how mum and dad didn't want me on the quiditch team. Mum actually said "Wouldn't you rather learn to knit?" Knit?! Fucking hell. Everyone will be so surprised when they find out I rejected Harry, well maybe not Pansy but she'll act surprised, what else would she do "Oh I knew because we used to snog behind the broom shed" not that it matters since she started fucking Draco, not that I cared because I had no expectations for her. She didn't have any expectations of me either, except an orgasm here and there. I guess it was that fact that drew me to her. No expectations, I didn't have to be a daughter, a sister or a friend. I wasn't a girlfriend, or a lover. I was a quick fuck, and god how happy that made me. It's not like my family could ever know about my preference for the fairer sex. They'd brush it off as a phase, after all, I must uphold their expectations, get married, have a million kids I can't afford to feed and clothe. I'm expected to get good grades, to be a good daughter, graduate and get a good job. I'm not expected to be in love with my best friend, to fuck Pansy, to fail ancient runes, to be on the quiditch team, to get a tattoo of a snitch on my ass. Despite all those things, no-one seems to notice I'm not upholding their expectations, because somehow I still care enough to appear that I am.

Did Hermione think I'd just leap into her arms? Did she think ten years after Hogwarts I'd been waiting for her? Did she think just because she broke off her engagement with Ron that I'd take her into my bed? Is this some strange trend in my life, that those I had crushes on when I was younger will come confessing a deep undying love when I've long since moved on with my life? Will they always see me as the poor pathetic child with her hopeless crush, do they not realise I am a woman with a life? Screw her; I moved on, I moved into a bottle. Me and Jack have become really good friends over the years, and when Jim comes over as well it's one hell of a party. They all pity me; actually no some of them just hate me. Mum and Dad kicked me out when I turned 20 and they finally caught me kissing another girl. I got kicked out for kissing her when we'd been fucking in my bed all week. They're so stupid; they thought she was just a friend. Ron started to hate me when Hermione left him. Harry hated me when I purposely threw a quiditch game because of my gambling debts. That look of disgust on his face when he realised. "I expected more of you Ginny" He said, so upset. Funny how much I didn't care, just because he used that damn word. Hermione's waiting for an answer, my head is still swimming. I just got out of bed, I'm hung over and the new tattoo on my arm burns, I hope it's not infected my bellybutton was enough hassle. My head stops swimming and starts hammering. I'm confused as to my massive hangover; it would require me to have been very drunk the night before. I know why I got drunk; they finally kicked me of the quiditch team. I'm not sure how though, I'm dead broke, hell I'm surprised my bookie isn't beating down my door. She's still staring at me. Those big brown eyes full of hope. She doesn't pity me, or hate me; it seems she might actually love me.

"Why?" I finally ask. I should clarify, why me? Why now? Actually I'm not sure what I'm asking; I'm just avoiding giving her an answer.

"Why?" She starts to cry "Because I love you Ginny, because it took me fifteen or so years to realise you're the Weasley I want. Because I want to help you, because this isn't you." She waves her arm around the room for emphasis. "Please" she begs me. Funny I feel like it should be me, at her feet. That's how everyone made me feel, made me feel below them. When Charlie found me shooting up he refused to help me unless I asked to be helped. I said 'Fuck Off' and we haven't spoken since. But here's Hermione, not asking me to ask for help, or to help myself. She wants to help me.

"This is me" I challenge "This is me, this has been me for a very long time, everyone was too busy with what they expected to notice who I am"

Funny thing about expectations is that in all my triumph against their expectations I suddenly realised, I'd failed my own about myself. I'd tried too hard and crossed a line. Maybe it was the day I first shot heroin into my arm. Maybe it was the first time I ever defied my parents. Maybe it was the first time I kissed Pansy, or the first time I touched myself and thought of Hermione.

"You could be better Ginny" She's still here, still wanting to help me.

"I don't know how." I want her to leave; I know a million ways I could make her leave, many violent. But I'm not shoving her out, or yelling at her, instead I realise I'm crying. She takes me into her arms and I wrap mine around her and cry, I cry for the first time in what seems like forever. I'm not sure if I've cried in the last 10 years, but drugs and alcohol tend to remove a lot of memories. I know soon nausea will be setting in, my hangover routine. Hermione will hold back my hair this time. Then a morning coffee, which she will pour. Usually I'd start training, quiditch all day, then get drunk. I have no team now, and I don't think she's going to let me get drunk.

Maybe I should start living up to some of my expectations. The one's where I'm a great quiditch player, where I'm happy, in love. The ones where I don't waste my money on gambling, booze and alcohol. I think I should start living up to them but make them goals. I won't call them expectations because I hate them.


End file.
